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Wide Haven

Clement Wood

Tired of man's futile, petty cry,
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Wide Haven

Clement Wood

Tired of man's futile, petty cry,
 Of lips that lie and flout,
I saw the slow sun dim and die
 And the slim dusk slip out …
 Life held no room for doubt.
What though Death claim the ones I prize
 In War's insane crusade,
Last night I saw Orion rise
 And the great day-star fade,
 And I am not dismayed.

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